Random thoughts on foggy San Francisco summers

I dressed my 5-year-old son in a T-shirt and shorts for our friend’s 4th of July party in San Francisco. I was optimistic that my child might eat watermelon, throw water balloons, and watch fireworks wearing summer attire in warm, balmy weather.

What was I thinking? Obviously, I forgot Mark Twain’s famous quote that he supposedly said: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.”

By 5 p.m. the fog was dripping over Diamond Heights and gusts of wind swept through the Noe Valley-Glen Park border where we were gathered with a crowd in a backyard celebrating our nation’s great holiday.

I stepped inside and grabbed my jacket and down vest. The wind picked up and I put on the faux fir-trimmed hood on my vest. Here I was in California on the 4th of July looking like an Eskimo.

The cold didn’t stop the kids. My son fearlessly stepped into a brutal water balloon battle, mainly being fought by tweens.

By 6 p.m. he was sopping wet–and freezing cold.

“My hands are cold, Mommy,” he said through chattering teeth. Yes, chattering.

I felt his blue, shivering hands. Ice cubes. On Tahoe ski trips, his hands never felt this frozen.

I had prepared and packed him a change of clothes–long pants and a heavy sweat shirt–because while all San Francisco moms hope for the best, we prepare for the worst on the 4th.

The fabled San Francisco fog and the city’s Independence Day fireworks display competed for the skyline Sunday as thousands upon thousands of revelers shivered through the July 4th festivities.

The 30-minute display went off without a hitch for an appreciative, and more than occasionally underdressed, crowd along the waterfront.

Sweat shirt sales at Pier 39 were brisk, and those not willing to shell out shook just a little more vigorously to the band belting out 80s covers.

“Not my favorite kind of weather at all,” said Angelica, who left her Oakland home in shorts and flip flops, only to bundle up in a blanket waiting for the fireworks to start.

When the fireworks finally started there wasn’t much to see. From above Dolores Park, we caught some colorful bursts but we mostly watched the fog change from red to blue.

Meanwhile my daughter was in the Northwest watching fireworks with her grandparents. They enjoyed a spectacular show set against clear skies, although my parents told me she got scared.

Yes, my 7-year-old was terrified and asked to leave. You can’t blame her. She’s never seen a real fireworks show unshrouded by fog. San Francisco kids don’t know how to watch fireworks…

In fact, over this three-day holiday weekend, I realized that many San Francisco locals are inept at doing summery things as a result of the fog.

We can’t barbecue. We may get fabulous grilling recipes from Sunset magazine and buy the best ingredients at the Ferry Plaza, but when it comes to actually cooking the food, many of us fail.

We had friends over on Saturday night for some backyard fun because the afternoon was sunny and we hoped the warm trend would continue into the evening. My husband burned the Bi-Rite ribs to a crisp. Sorry friends, but my husband doesn’t have a lot of barbecue experience under his belt. We typically end up cooking the food in the oven inside because it’s too cold to stand outside next to the barbie.

Our kids don’t know how play at the beach. On Sunday morning, we went to Fort Funston with some friends. We packed a picnic, and even swimsuits. My friend and I had this grand idea that our kids would frolic in the surf while we nibbled on goat cheese sandwiches on the beach.

Yet while the sky was crystal clear in Noe Valley and the Mission that morning, it was thick with wet, drizzly fog at Fort Funston. Our kids never played in the surf, and we ate our lunch huddled in my friend’s Prius. Sorry kids, but we must go to San Diego if you want to build a sand castle.

We don’t know how to wear swim suits. Starved for heat, my son and I drove to Danville yesterday to meet a friend at her mom’s swim club. Of course, this meant that I actually had to shave my bikini line. After dulling the blades of two razors, waterfalls of blood dripped down my legs. I can assure you that this doesn’t happen to the women living out in Danville. They know how to shave their bikini lines because they actually swim more than a few times a year.

After severely damaging my most sensitive area, I looked for our swim stuff. I pulled my one-and-only Target suit from the bottom of my sock drawer. It had lost its elasticity and when I tried it on the back sagged as if I had had an accident. Suddenly swimming at the club in Danville wasn’t seeming so appealing.

My son actually has a decent suit because he has weekly swim lessons, but his sun-protective top was nowhere to be found. I dug through dresser drawers and giant plastic bins stuffed under beds. He ended up wearing his sister’s old top, green and yellow floral.

I can assure you that the families living on the Peninsula, where hot summers are passed at the swim club, aren’t spending hours looking for their kids swim stuff. They probably have an entire drawer devoted to swimming pool attire.

We don’t know how to apply sunscreen. We finally made it to Danville. Scorching hot. In the 90s. My body wasn’t used to the heat and sweat dripped down my skin.

I pulled out my bottle of organic Jason sunscreen, highly recommended by the Environmental Working Group and purchased at Rainbow Grocery. I slathered the cream on my son, taking five or 10 minutes to cover his body. I looked at the label and realized the lotion was only water resistant. Sorry son, but your sunscreen will probably be ineffective after you spend 10 minutes in the water.

Meanwhile, my friend grabs her bottle of a super-waterproof sunscreen and sprayed it all over her son. He was fully covered in 30 seconds.

And so I have realized that next summer, we will leave San Francisco for the 4th of July. We will sit in traffic for eight hours and drive to Tahoe because my family needs to learn to play in the sun. My kids can learn to swim in a lake because the last time we went to a lake they were too afraid to dive in. “Mommy there might be fish in the lake!”